A Personal Savior
by Wolfe Child
Summary: Draco Malfoy is going though a rough time after receiving the dark mark... and getting his first assignment... As he turns to a different way to cope, he gets unexpected support from someone he thought hates him... Contains Self-Harm, Depression, and Language... ONE-SHOT


**_AN:_**

 ** _WARNING: This contains mentions of self-harm, depression, cutting, etc. If any of this acts as a trigger for any of you lovely people, please do not read this... But do remember that there is always someone out there who loves you for who you are. If you are currently going through a rough time (like I was a couple weeks ago...) (Or even if you are not currently...) Remember that there is always a light at the end of the tunnel, no matter how deep and dark it seems at the time._**

 ** _Rated M for strong language as well as those reasons stated above... also because I am paranoid..._**

 ** _I own nothing, sadly, except for the plot._**

~o0o~

Written from Draco's perspective

~o0o~

There were many times where I regretted my actions, like the many times that I used the word _mudblood,_ but it was the way that I was raised. It was expected of me.

Now, however, I felt such a strong disgust of myself, here, leaning on the sink, watching the small, thin, red lines slowly grow on my wrist. I couldn't do the Dark Lord's bidding, I couldn't uphold the image that my father had for me, I couldn't be what was expected of me, I couldn't kill Dumbledore. I also couldn't turn on my family ties. I was the Slytherin Prince. I had high expectations placed upon me, none of which were to go soft and not to be able to complete a simple mission.

I could hear Aunt Bella's voice in the back of my head as I ran my potions knife again and again over my wrist. _Useless. Pathetic. Weak._ Each was a new cut. And I full heartedly agreed with her. I had nothing to live for, nothing to accomplish in life. I was too far in to back out, it was now kill or be killed. There was no out. I couldn't go to the light side and bloody _Potter_ for help either. They would never believe me. I had been Slytherin's Prince for far too long. _Especially_ not Potter. I had mocked him and been a pain in the arse for years, he wouldn't hesitate to do anything but hex me to next hogsmeade weekend.

I could feel the tears prickling behind my eyelids. _No. I couldn't cry. It is unbecoming of a heir to cry. Especially not in a public area._

 _But how is that stopping you?_ I thought bitterly to myself. _It is unbecoming to be disfiguring yourself in such a way as well._ I barely wince and the blade begins to cut deeper and deeper. Suddenly, the blood is dripping down my pale hand into the sink. _Look at me now Father._ Aunt _Bella._ Each thing I couldn't do, each task I couldn't complete, each regret was a new gash. Until dozens littered all the way up my forearm, over the dark mark that was forever branded into my skin. A countless amount of these lines were for Granger and every time I called her a mudblood, and for anytime I called anyone that for that matter.

 _Father will kill me if he knew. But I don't bloody care anymore. I might as well die here and now. Huh. There's an idea. I won't end up under_ crucio _this way. I could end it. Right here. Right now._ The only person I would regret leaving behind is Mother. She had always loved me, had even tried to prevent me from taking the dark mark. She truly cared.

I braced myself to make two final cuts, two deep, life ending slits, one in each wrist. Then I heard the door open, and someone walk in. I hurriedly stuff the blade in my pocket, yanking my sleeve down, the red instantly bleeding through my white shirt, before being covered by the black sleeve of my robes. Silently, I curse this nameless male, who has prevented me from ending my own misery. I wash my hands, trying to hide the fact that they were covered in blood. The water runs pink on its way down the drain.

"Malfoy!?" The boy says, disbelief lacing his voice. It sounds faintly familiar, like I should recognize it. He's seen the blood being washed away, as well as my face. I might as well go find another unoccupied loo, or at least return to my dorm to finish what I was about to do. I turn to leave, but he grasps my right arm, the uninjured one, in his tight grasp. I look up, finally recognizing the voice. I see the emotions in his marvelous, bright green eyes. Confusion? Disgust? Fear? Concern? Sympathy? Understanding? But how could the fucking _Boy Who Lived_ understand what was going in? Shouldn't he be some innocent, sheltered school boy who doesn't care about his adolescent rival? I hold his gaze for a countless amount of time.

"I don't need your pity Potter. Let me go." I say, surprised as my voice stays level, emotionless, like it should. That's bloody fucking typical, the _one thing_ to go right. My voice stayed level. Great.

"Draco..." He said, his voice soft, full of emotion. "This... This is..." His voice cracks, and he is unable to continue.

"Disgusting? Appalling? Disgraceful? I fucking know. That's why I am doing it. Now, if you would be so courteous as to let go of my arm so I can finish the deed, I would forever be grateful, or at least until my final breaths." I say with as much venom as I can muster, trying to yank my arm free. But his grip is tighter than I originally thought.

"No... That's not what I was going to say..."

"Let me guess... Deranged? What I deserve? Again, I know already. That's why I'm doing it for fucks sake."

"Would you let me finish my bloody sentence!" His sudden outburst stuns me, making me speechless. I had never heard him raise his voice outside of yelling at Umbridge last year, and never with such passion as now. "I was going to say that it seemed too familiar for me to see someone else walk down this path!"

I stared at him, his words leaving me dumbfounded. "What do you fucking mean _familiar._ Have you had to talk down the filthy mudblood from the same fate?" I said scathingly, instantly regretting it. I let some emotion to cross my face, praying that he will see and know that I regret my words. I can see the recognition of the regret in his face.

"No." He said simply, letting go of my arm. For a second I am worried that he will just turn away, and I feel sick, because I have the sudden feeling that I _need_ a savior, someone to talk me down. But then I see that he is going for his own sleeve. "No. I've been there myself." He rolls his sleeve up at this point, revealing dozens and dozens of marks, some a paleish silvery, some more red, raw. "Last summer, when my Godfather died, I thought it was my fault, I fell into a depression. I went home to my Muggle relatives, where I have no one who cares for me. They lock up all my school supplies. I let myself get worse, one day finding my cousin's old disposable razor. I broke it and used the old blades to dig into my skin, relishing in the punishment and the _pain_ of the blade running across my skin. So no, I haven't had to talk a friend down from this type of thing. I've lived it. Talked myself down. Ron and Hermione don't even know..." He says, suddenly falling silent, like he just realized that he almost bore his soul to me. His mortal enemy (because let's face it, there was nothing mortal about the dark lord). He looked as shocked as I felt. He looks ashamed.

I realize how far gone I am, how damaged I am, and I feel the tears begin to pour down my face. I can no longer hold it back. I am overcome with emotion, and Pot- no... _Harry,_ looks startled, like this was the last thing he expected from the Malfoy heir. He comes closer, hesitantly wrapping his arms around me, enveloping me in one of the most tender hugs I have ever received, with no regards to the blood that must be getting on his shirt now. I let him, suddenly feeling exhausted, and I let my legs begin to fold beneath me. He slowly lowers us both to the ground, cradling me, rocking back and forth. Letting me sob into his shoulder. I let out these sounds I didn't even know I could make, and he gently begins running a hand through my hair, which I find oddly soothing.

Eventually I calm down, and push my self up. Then, I look into my own personal savior's eyes. I wipe the tears from my face, and prepare to stand and thank Harry for all he has done. He sees the look on my face.

"Don't worry about it. It wasn't a big deal," He says, trying to brush of any thanks.

"Yes it was." I said simply, "So, thank you."

"Do you need to talk about it?"

"No. It was bad enough thinking it all the first time," I say, walking to the sink to finish my job of washing up. There is still blood in the basin.

As I turn the tap, he says, "Fine. But I am open to listen if you need it. No matter what our history says..." He says as he conjures bandages to wrap around my forearm, then applies a charm to hide them from sight, something I will forever be thankful for. He picks up his stuff and moves to leave. As he walks out, he whispers, "I'm sorry Draco, for not taking your hand in first year. I have regretted it ever since..." Then he walks out, leaving me stunned.

I consider running after him and demanding an explanation, but decide against it. I ponder his last words as I grab my bag, and walk out to the great hall for dinner.

 ** _A/N: Update: 31 March 2017_**

 ** _I wrote a companion piece of this story from Harry's perspective if you are interested. It is called "A Personal Reason", and goes into Harry's thoughts and experiences leading up to their sixth year._**


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